Film-maker Royston Tan isn't quite as bad as he would have people believe.
For one thing, his new movie 4.30, which opens here tomorrow, doesn't poke fun at the authorities, nor is it about teenage gangsters.
In fact, Tan is such a nice guy that during the photoshoot for this interview, he gamely posed for the photographer for over an hour.
"Dark lighting is good," he said at one point. "It's okay, I don't mind looking like a serial killer. If I had shades, I'd wear them so I'd look more like an ah beng. I like to poke fun at myself."
In the same self-deprecating spirit, Tan spoke to Today about the time he almost got into a brawl with the censors, why hawkers are his buddies and how he was willing to go to jail in the name of art.
What inspired 4.30?
The idea came from when we did 15. Typically, after filming for the day wrapped, it was already 4.30am. That's the time when you feel lonely because you want to call someone up but it's so late.
When I looked out the window, there were lights on in blocks; people were apparently still awake. There were other people who were up, but I couldn't connect with them. This was what triggered the idea.
Beyond loneliness, 4.30 also touches on the lifestyle of the average Singaporean kid.
It could be a social observation. I think every Singaporean kid is lonely. Unlike other Asian kids, we have no childhood. It's all about school and there is very little playtime. It began with my generation and it's even worse now.
There is also a very high suicide rate among students here. After 15, I thought I'd take a step back and explore the problems of kids of a younger age. I don't know if there's a message, but I hope this is a film that reconnects the audience to their inner child.
Do your views about children have anything to do with your own experiences?
As a kid, I never liked school. That's the only thing about me that is similar to the lead character.
I lived in a kampung, unlike everyone else. So, when I had to go to school, I felt like I was going to prison. The teachers told my parents that maybe I had some sort of learning problem.
I've always been the quiet sort and I just couldn't blend in. I had no interest in the games the other children played, the topics they talked about or the music they listened to. The only thing I looked forward to in school was art class.
All of your feature films seem to have numerical titles. Is there a reason for this?
I don't know, actually. 15 was because of the age of the actors and 4.30 was because of the time. My next film, 132, that's the number of the bus service on which the characters meet.
I think when you hate something, sometimes you're also drawn to it. I really hated maths in school. It's quite an embarrassing thing to say, but in secondary school, my teacher just wanted me to get 10 marks out of 100 for math, and then she wouldn't punish me.
My films are very atmospheric and I guess numbers lend a different dimension to them. It all starts out subconsciously though. It's only later that I realise: "Eh, how come all the titles have numbers in them?" At least it gives the audience the chance to buy 4D!
Your reputation may be as an art house director, but you've shown a flair for comedy in your short films. Cut! lampooned the censors and Careless Whisper was about two-time Singapore Idol wannabe Patrick Khoo.
I've always been interested in comedy. I think I'm quite funny in real life (laughs).
Let's just say, my next film that will come out before 132 will be a big surprise. I've always tried to surprise my audience. 15 and 4.30 are two very different films.
There are many sides to me and I plan to make films in different genres. As long as I can relate to a story, I'll do it, whatever the genre.
I'll do a commercial film too, although I've never believed there's a difference between commercial and art house movies. But a film like 4.30 cannot be speeded up, it's meant to be slow.
You're known as the bad boy of Singapore movies. What's the most rebellious thing you've done?
During my polytechnic days, I chopped down a tree on the school grounds because I needed a tree inside the studio for a film I was making. When I was 19, I ran away from home for three days and went clubbing every night.
But I think making Cut! was the ultimate act of rebellion. I tried to ask Amy Chua (the director of the media content division at the Media Development Authority) out for dinner, but she didn't want to go out with me (laughs).
When I had to meet with the censors because of the film, I almost wanted to throw a chair at them.
How has life changed for you since you've become famous? Or maybe it's infamous ...
I've always been myself. But ever since my name was mentioned in Parliament, the coffeeshop uncles have become my good friends. When I go for breakfast, I get it for free. They tell me: "Zuo de hao!" (Mandarin for "You've done well.")
In terms of the people element, I've cultivated a lot of relationships. I think people have their own frustrations with the system so they feel like I'm venting their frustrations on their behalf.
But some of your friends don't even know you're one of Singapore's best-known film-makers.
Fame comes and goes very quickly. I try not to get sucked into it.
Once you've achieved something, then you've got to move on.
I try to balance my public and private personas. If I don't have an interview, I'll wear very lok (Hokkien for sloppy) clothes. Nobody can recognise me, and I can be myself.
But once, at about 9am, I was wearing boxers and a singlet — a group of secondary school students still recognised me.
What I want is for people to know my work more than they know me. I have some friends who have no idea that I'm a director. They tell me I look like someone in the papers, but they think I'm in hotel management. I've never clarified it because I think it's a healthy thing.
You've declined offers to work overseas because you feel there are still plenty of stories to tell in Singapore. So where do you see yourself in, say, 10 years?
It's a very scary question. I've never planned anything. I mean, I don't know how long I'll live. I don't even buy insurance and I don't have much in savings. I live each day as if it's my last.
I know it's a cliche, but it feels more exciting this way, to face the unknown. My parents have long accepted that I'll never hold a 9-to-5 job.
It took them a while to get used to my chosen career, but they've always been supportive, especially during Cut!. They were shocked at the response to that film, but they told me they would stand by me, no matter what.
When Cut! came out, I got a realistic view of our film industry. I saw whose support I had and who just turned their back on me.
You still seem to feel very strongly about Cut!. Would you say it's your most important film?
It's one of the most important films for our film industry. It's a petition from people within the industry to appreciate art.
When I made Cut!, I told my mum that I was ready to go to jail. I told my mum that if I ever had to go to prison, she would just have to visit me there. She almost cried.
I was willing to die for this film. If I hadn't made this film, then I would have lived my life in a very fake way. I have to be true to my own emotions. That's why I can't ever be the public relations sort of person, the type that goes (in an artificial tone): "Oh, how have you been? I haven't seen you in years!"
Of course, my attitude can antagonise people, but there are those who truly value what I say. I don't know if it would have been worth it to go to jail for a film, but at the time I had to make it. The censorship issue almost caused me to have a nervous breakdown. I had to get it out of my system.
The censors still claim they only made nine cuts to 15, but I don't know how they got to that number when it's actually thrice that. - TODAY/sh
any idea